


Watching Stars

by museaway



Series: Spock Prime [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Meld, New Vulcan, Personal Favorite, Shore Leave, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took Gol to force Spock's hand. There is time for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesecretmichan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretmichan/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday!
> 
> This story is now available [in Chinese](http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=91116&highlight=spock%2Bprime) (Mandarin).

"But watching stars without you / my soul cries" - Des'ree, _Kissing You_

***

The aged Vulcan stands silently amid the bustle of the crowded warehouse. _Enterprise_ crew members offload much-needed supplies for the colony from the shuttlecraft: spare replicator parts, medical equipment, specialized building materials. He watches them take each crate, identify its serial number, check it against a list, and direct it to its proper place within the warehouse. A shipment of large crates, too heavy to be carried by a man, has been beamed down directly from _Enterprise_ 's cargo hold, and they await cataloging. A group of volunteers from the colony assists the crew, who pant and sweat in the hot, stale air.

His younger counterpart has not taken notice of him. He kneels on the hard packed soil, opening and inspecting the contents of each crate before it is stored. His gestures speak of his Vulcan upbringing, but there is humanity in the warm glances he casts toward the only storage container not holding supplies.

The well-used red crate holds priceless Vulcan weaponry and art returned from museums galaxy wide. It is a small collection, just thirteen pieces, but immeasurable in value to a culture so decimated. This is the crate which holds Spock's interest as well, because James Tiberius Kirk lingers at its opening, touching—because Jim Kirk was, _is_ a tactile human—the pronounced lines of a carved le-matya, a Vulcan lute. Jim's face shines with perspiration, concentrated at his hairline. He holds his left arm behind him, curled in a loose fist, the back of his hand pressed against his spine. The scar on his temple was not present on Delta Vega, one inch from the corner of his right eye. The naive sweetness is absent; what remains is a leader—cautious, cunning, carved from the same stuff as his Jim. The similarity is so apparent now that his old heart thumps, as it thumped when Jim rushed into the ice cave. It is a bittersweet ache, the same he felt each time Jim contacted him from Earth during his recovery. Spock cannot help but stare at the young captain's fingertips, the way they trace each artifact, guilt rising at the desire those fingers stir within him. He will require much meditation for the next one point eight seven five days.

"Ambassador." His younger self has noticed him now and come to stand at Spock's shoulder. In his distraction, he did not hear him approach.

"Mr. Spock," he acknowledges.

"I trust the supplies are to your satisfaction."

"We are gratified by the Federation's generosity," Spock says.

"How is our father?"

"He continues to grieve the loss of our mother. He would benefit from your company."

"I plan to remain on planet while the Enterprise is in orbit," his younger self replies, folding his arms behind his back. Spock follows the line of his gaze toward Jim. "Father has requested I stay with him. I go to his house directly once the captain is safely on board."

Spock's mouth twitches once in the corner. How like Jim not to inform anyone of his plans, not even his first officer. At this, the young man looks over his shoulder, as if he knows they have just spoken of him, and his face breaks into a grin that causes Spock to smile in return. What a fool he must look! Jim is at his side in under four standard seconds, and he places a hand on Spock's arm. Spock regards the smooth fingers, the unblemished skin, the veins pronounced from the heat. The warmth from Jim's palm is a welcome sensation, and he grips Jim's arm in return. Jim is alive. The visual assessment is enough to confirm this; to touch Jim is unnecessary, yet Spock finds he does not wish to remove his hand.

"You ready to go?" Jim asks, shouldering a small Starfleet duffel bag and gazing at Spock. In his eyes is a fondness that causes Spock's heart to thump so loudly in his side, he fears his younger self might detect it. He clears his throat to cover the sound.

"Captain," the younger Spock asks, furrowing his brow. "You are not returning to the ship?"

Jim shakes his head. "I'm going to stay on planet, Mr. Spock. Stretch my legs."

"You did not inform me of your intention to remain on New Vulcan."

"Didn't realize I had to run everything by you," Jim says and frowns slightly.

"As your first officer, your safety is my priority."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that, but since he's an older version of you, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

"My father's home is open to you."

"The ambassador invited me to stay with him," Jim explains and winks at Spock, whose throat tightens at the familiarity. His younger self straightens his back just barely, but Spock takes note. That he was unaware of his captain's plans has clearly disturbed him. Spock has always straightened to mask disappointment. He wonders if this version of himself yet admits to that emotion. A typical first officer's reaction to this information would be surprise, perhaps irritation. Disappointment indicates a more intimate relationship, yet their interaction is tense.

"In that case," the younger Spock continues, "may I extend an invitation to this evening's meal? You would honor us with your presence."

"I'm pretty tired," Jim admits, shifting the bag to his other shoulder. "I was kind of looking forward to a night in."

"The invitation extends to the ambassador as well," he says more stiffly and locks eyes with Spock, who notes a glint of envy in the stare. Fascinating.

"Oh," Jim says. "It's up to you." Spock realizes Jim is speaking to him and snaps his attention back, words failing him momentarily. He desires to have Jim's attention to himself, but he has no logical reason to offer in rejection of the invitation.

"If it is agreeable to you," Spock offers to his younger self, "I will see that James is situated, and we will meet at Sarek's home in one point five standard hours."

"That is acceptable," his younger self agrees. Jim punches his first officer on the shoulder—Spock supposes this is a sign of affection, though his Jim never touched him in quite that way—and follows Spock out of the warehouse.

"Are we really going to dinner at your dad's?" Jim asks, falling into step beside him. Spock holds out a hand to take Jim's duffel bag, but Jim casts him a look as though to question Spock's sanity and again shifts the bag to his opposite shoulder.

"I have no reason to refuse."

The look on Jim's face tells Spock he is dissatisfied.

"Jim," Spock says as they start out into the heat and up the pathway toward the main road. It will take them to the housing development. "If you would prefer to stay as a guest of Sarek's—"

"No," Jim interrupts him. "Believe me, I'd much rather stay with you. If that's still okay."

"You are always welcome," Spock says quickly. Blood rushes to his cheeks, and he is relieved that Jim doesn't look at his face.

They pass the school building, which educates youth ages two to eight. Age will need to be adjusted and school ages adjusted accordingly. This planet spins more slowly than Vulcan did, and there are fewer days in a year. Each day is closer to the length of a day on Earth. Spock was 157 when he entered the black hole; he is uncertain how to calculate his age now. It is illogical to base it on the rotation and orbit of a planet that no longer exists. In this moment, with Jim at his side, his age does not matter. As his own Jim would say, "You're overthinking this, Mr. Spock."

"How've you been?" this Jim asks, glancing at Spock as they pass a crude building which houses what remains from the Vulcan Science Academy. "I haven't talked with you in a few weeks."

"I am well," Spock says. "There is much to do. I keep occupied. I have been recording details of scientific achievements in my timeline. With the academy's records destroyed, it is imperative we recover what we can, even if the information I provide would not have been discovered for another century. Once I am gone..."

Jim holds out a hand. "I don't want to think about that," he says. His mouth forms a tight line. Spock does not need to inquire as to the reason for his upset. He touches Jim's arm lightly as they start up a hill, and Jim's smile returns but at only half its usual brilliance. The housing development comes into view just over the hill, built in the manner of ShiKahr, as concentric circles, though the buildings are rough in appearance. They are perfunctory, constructed by volunteers from throughout the Federation. A Vulcan team would not have sacrificed form for function, but the structures are practical.

"Which way?" Jim asks as they come to the first circle, to the path which requires them to choose left, right, or proceed to the inner circle.

"We will cross through the center," Spock explains. "My dwelling is located on the opposite side of the development, in the second outermost ring."

Jim acknowledges the inhabitants who stand outside their dwellings: some sweep, some tend to dusty gardens, some regard him neutrally. A few recognize Jim; it is clear from the slight widening of their eyes. They offer the ta'al, and Jim does his best to return it. Spock feels a surge of pride.

The native fauna of New Vulcan has proven suitable for domestication, and a group of Vulcan children chase after a creature that closely resembles a Terran _Lepus sylvaticus,_ only with shorter ears and fine fur. Jim stops walking, biting his lip to mask his grin—Spock remembers that expression too—and watches them.

"They're playing," he whispers, touching Spock's hand. "I didn't think Vulcan kids played like we do on Earth."

Spock's eyes drift to the point where their skin connects.

"Much has changed," Spock says after a pause though he is not speaking of the children. Jim shields nothing from him. He projects amusement, but there is sorrow and confusion and fear surging just behind it. Is he aware Spock can sense these emotions? Jim would have studied xenobiology at the academy, Spock reasons; surely a course on telepathic species was compulsory, as it was when Spock studied there. Such a course would have instructed in basic shielding techniques. His own Jim was familiar with them. Therefore, logically, Jim must wish Spock to know his thoughts. As a test, he pushes a wave of fondness to Jim, who turns his head to face him, smiling lazily.

"Come on," he says, indicating a desire to resume walking with a bob of his head. "It's hot out here."

***

It was a favorite pastime of Spock's, to watch Jim Kirk touch his possessions, run his hands along the sculptures and tapestries decorating Spock's cabin, finger his place in a book. There is a century between the times Spock has watched Jim's hands so intently, and yet it feels like no time at all has passed since those hand moved before him, claiming Spock's things as his own. This Jim stands before the modest bookshelf, holding only a scattering of bound books, a stack of PADDs, handwritten notebooks Spock has collected of his own memoirs. He watches as Jim takes a book down from the shelf, spreads it open in his palms, lovingly touches a spot on the page, and returns it to its rightful place.

Spock notes the curve of Jim's neck as he cranes it to peer at a sketch propped against books on the third shelf. It is Jim as Spock remembers him, seated in the captain's chair, glancing at Spock over his shoulder. His face and body are rounded with age, hair longer and curled. His lips echo a smile; the skin around his eyes crinkles softly. Spock has no need for the drawing of Jim. He can close his eyes and bring his face to life when he chooses, but he finds comfort in glancing to the bookshelf, catching Jim's gaze in return, as fond as it once was. It is sentimental, but Spock long ago accepted that Jim Kirk aroused such emotion in him. The day his dwelling was completed, he sat at the table intending to begin his memoirs but made the drawing instead. Jim stares at it mutely for forty-three seconds, but he does not touch.

"I look good when I'm older," he says finally. Spock smiles sadly.

"Indeed."

***

Sarek's home is located seventy-six paces from Spock's dwelling, an imprecise unit of measurement, yet Spock finds he reaches Sarek's home in seventy-six paces every visit. Walking to match Jim's stride, they reach it in eighty-two. Jim fusses with his collar, adjusting it with both hands, and exhales loudly when Spock raises a hand to knock on the thick door. Jim glances to the window and back—he is nervous, perhaps—and his intake of breath is sharp when it opens. Spock's younger self greets them, no longer dressed in his Starfleet uniform but a long robe—he has, undoubtedly, borrowed it from their father. He nods at Spock, then turns his eyes to Jim. Spock notes a warmth in his expression, a hunger.

It took Gol to force Spock's hand. There is time for them.

"Captain," his younger self says and motions inside the house. Jim follows him inside. Sarek greets them in the traditional manner and invites them to his table. Jim is offered the seat to Sarek's right, and they recline on low-backed chairs.

The meal is simple: raw fruits and vegetables arranged on a platter with nuts and a few loaves of kreyla. Spock watches as Jim leans in for a slice of the bread, noting the way his younger self gathers the nuts closest to Jim, setting them on his own plate. He does not consume them; the movement must be in deference to Jim's allergies.

Conversation is sparse. Jim directs questions to Sarek and, Spock notes, does not look at his first officer. His head is bowed as he eats, politely sipping tea. Spock's younger self watches the captain for seventy-seven point one four two percent of the meal. Afterwards, Sarek offers a plate of saffir, and they consume it in the common room. Spock sees Jim's eyes linger on a wooden relief of Amanda on the wall. Sarek possessed a fine carving of her likeness, but it was lost in Vulcan's destruction. This one is somewhat rough; Sarek carved it himself. Spock's mother appears radiant. Jim's adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He glances away from it and over at Spock, then back to the carving. His cheeks flush as he reaches for another piece of saffir.

"Thanks for your hospitality, Sarek," Jim says as they ready to leave.

"Captain Kirk," Sarek says, offering the ta'al in farewell. Jim looks once in the younger Spock's direction, nods curtly, and opens the door.

***

They return to the house in silence. Jim's movements are slower. They arrive at the house in ninety paces, and Spock holds the door.

"You are tired," he says. Jim shakes his head.

"Just thinking."

"I will make tea," Spock says and retreats to the small kitchen area. It is outfitted with a sink, a small replicator, a heating element, and a small refrigeration device. He heats water to boiling and pours it over the leaves to steep in a small clay pot. He places the pot and two round mugs on a tray and brings them to the common room, but Jim is not there. Spock finds him outside in the small garden, looking up at the dark sky. He sets down the tray and comes to stand beside him.

"How do you forget what it was like to die?" Jim asks quietly.

"I have not forgotten," Spock admits.

Jim's breathing is unsteady. Spock hesitates and places a hand on his back. He is gratified when Jim leans into it. Even through the fabric of his uniform, Jim's emotions are palpable and erratic. Spock does what Jim would have and rubs a slow circle, projecting calm.

"Were you scared?"

"Yes," Spock says.

"Were you alone?"

"No."

"Good," Jim says, and Spock feels some of the tension leave his body. He motions to the tea with a jerk of his head. "Got anything stronger?"

"If you mean alcohol, I do not. I recall you were fond of it, though not as fond as Dr. McCoy."

"It was worth asking." Jim grins and clears his throat. "Tea it is."

Jim settles in a chair, leaning back so he can watch the stars. Spock pours him a mug of tea and places it in his hand. He sits in the adjacent chair.

"Thanks," Jim says but doesn't drink. He wraps both hands around his mug and rests it on his stomach. "It's nice out here. Is this anything like Vulcan was?"

"There are similarities: the climate, the soil composition, its distance from Earth," Spock says. It is a fine planet he selected for the colony, comparable to his own world in so many ways, but that is not what Jim is asking. "It is not Vulcan," Spock tells him.

"Did I ever visit?"

Jim wishes to know about himself. It is to be expected. He is Jim Kirk, after all. Jim Kirk had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and clever methods of extracting it. Vulcan is gone, so there is no harm in telling Jim about events on the planet which can no longer take place.

"Yes," Spock says.

"Often?"

"The _Enterprise_ came to Vulcan several times."

"I meant in an unofficial capacity," he says, casting a glance at Spock, who cannot stand the scrutiny and looks away.

"Ah." Spock sips his own tea, swallowing before he answers. Jim knows. Spock read it in his eyes just now. He saw the sketch of himself on Spock's bookshelf, recognized its counterpart in the carving Sarek made. It will not protect Jim to conceal from him what he already knows. Even with the knowledge, Jim will still make his own decisions. Illogically, Spock covers his heart.

"Yes, Jim," he murmurs. "You spent much time on Vulcan."

"With you," Jim says pointedly.

"Yes."

Jim sighs, a lonely, familiar sound. Spock expects him to probe further, but he does not.

"I don't recognize the constellations," he says after a long silence. "You'll have to make up new stories."

***

They go inside when Jim's eyes begin to fall closed, and the tea has gone cold in his mug. Spock takes it from him, pouring the undrunk contents into the sink. Jim shadows him, leaning in the archway.

"Where am I sleeping?" he asks.

"I have prepared guest quarters for you," Spock says, turning to face him. Jim takes a step forward.

"Where are _you_ sleeping?"

Spock feels the blood rise in his neck and ears. He is about to answer when Jim lunges forward and kisses him. Spock's immediate response is to kiss Jim in return, to fold Jim in his arms and hold him. Spock's heart is beating wildly in his side. Sparks like electric impulses course through his fingers and stomach. It has been so long since Jim last touched him. Jim's kisses are frantic, wet and impulsive; his mind is a maelstrom of images. Spock sees himself in the cave on Delta Vega, his younger self on the transporter pad covered in volcanic ash, his younger self reaching for Jim through glass, his younger self in Jim's hospital room, an empty seat across a chessboard where his younger self should sit, cold replicated meals for one, his own wrinkled face filling a computer screen. Jim is confused. Spock cannot allow him to do this. Spock pulls back abruptly, but Jim captures Spock's face between his palms.

"Don't pretend like you don't want to."

"I am one hundred and thirty-two years your senior."

"I don't care," Jim rasps, and his breath is hot against Spock's lips. "I shouldn't even be alive."

He kisses Spock again, slowly this time, and releases him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and stepping away. Spock stares at him, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Jim's pupils are blown wide, and his lips are slightly swollen. His face is flushed, and he looks at Spock hungrily. This, too, Spock recognizes.

"Look," Jim says. "I'm going into the bedroom, and you should follow me."

Jim peels off his shirt and drops it on the floor at Spock's feet. Despite his better judgment, Spock follows him. The remainder of Jim's clothes form a trail along the floor, and the trail ends where Jim lies naked on the bed, stroking himself. Spock's arousal surges and overtakes his rational thought, and he stretches out beside Jim. In the dark of the room, Spock reaches for him. He is so young, but he feels and smells like Jim. His mouth tastes like Jim. Spock crushes him to his chest and rocks against him slowly. Never, he never thought he would have Jim in his embrace again. The emotions overwhelm him, and he willingly drowns in them. His eyes sting, and he kisses Jim harder, deeper. Jim bites at his lips; Spock reacquaints himself with Jim's sharp teeth and the texture of his tongue. His fingers recognize the muscles along Jim's back, the swell of his ass, the tangle of his hair soft against Spock's hands. His mouth is warm and familiar, and he kisses with a youthful enthusiasm. Jim's hands push Spock's robe from his shoulders and are seemingly everywhere on his body. Spock's skin is alight with sensation. Theirs is not the slow, practiced lovemaking of two souls twenty years bonded. It is rushed and awkward, sloppy, but he holds Jim tightly as he grinds against Spock's thigh.

Spock cries out when he comes against Jim's hip, with his own Jim's face in his mind. He kisses the salty, sweat-covered skin on Jim's shoulder as he drifts to sleep, begging _t'hy'la, t'hy'la, forgive me_.

***

In the morning, Spock wakes to Jim's form curled beside him but turned away, the sheet pulled to his waist, shoulders and back uncovered. It was not a dream. Jim's breathing is even. He is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm Spock memorized years ago. The skin on Jim's back is smooth and radiant with youth. Spock does not follow the impulse to touch him, instead rising from the bed. He puts on clean robes and goes to prepare breakfast.

The replicator is old and works slowly. Spock brews tea while he waits. He returns to the bedroom with a tray of warm gespar rolls with soltar preserves (also replicated, though the flavor is not dissimilar to the native Vulcan fruit). He places it on the bedside table and is unsure whether he should return to bed or remain standing. He compromises and sits on the edge of the mattress.

Jim is watching him through sleep bleary eyes, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. His hair is mussed. Spock reaches out to touch, card his fingers through it, and Jim closes his eyes.

"Morning," he says through a smile.

"I hope your rest was sufficient."

"I haven't slept that great in a long time," Jim confesses.

"There is food if you are hungry," Spock offers.

"You don't have to dote on me," Jim says but his face breaks into a grin as he takes a roll and bites into it.

"I do not," Spock agrees.

"Oh, god," Jim says through a full mouth. "This stuff's awesome."

Spock gives him a knowing smile.

"This was my favorite, wasn't it," Jim says.

"Yes."

Jim hums contentedly and finishes the roll. Spock watches him eat, the way his mouth parts slightly every few chews, how his tongue darts out to lick away a spot of jam on his upper lip. Spock finds he has no appetite and is pleased to watch Jim consume the entire plate. Jim accepts a mug of tea and tastes it, inhaling when it is clearly still too hot for his mouth. He sets it aside, drawing more air into his mouth.

"I'll give that a few minutes to cool off," he says, laughing.

He smiles at Spock sweetly then gradually sobers. His hand comes to rest on Spock's, unmoving. The look on his face is guarded.

"Am I like him?" he asks, not quite meeting Spock's eyes. Spock doesn't answer and buries his face in Jim's shoulder.

***

"What do you miss about me?" Jim asks over the chessboard after lunch. It is their second game. Jim is a strong player, but Spock beats him easily. Jim takes it in characteristically good stride, studying Spock's every move. Spock suspects he is cataloging Spock's chess game for use against his first officer, when he is not running a foot up Spock's calf.

"I miss your cooking," Spock admits. Jim seems surprised by the statement, his eyebrows rising. He bobs his head a few times.

"I didn't realize I could cook," he says. "Cool."

***

Jim finds the pendant on the table beside Spock's bed.

"May I?" he asks.

Spock nods, and Jim holds the pendant in his palm, activating it with a press of his index finger. Before him, the pendant projects an image of Jim himself, ten inches in height, sixty one years old, just as he appeared before the _Enterprise-B_ maiden voyage. Jim had returned to Earth; he would rejoin Spock on Vulcan once the voyage concluded. He'd left the pendant beside the bed the morning he left.

Spock smiles at the tiny figure, who begins to sing happy birthday and wish him congratulations on his appointment as ambassador. Spock's eyes shift to Jim's face as he sees his older self for the first time, mouth just dropped open, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Spock looks back to the hologram, feeling suddenly as though he is intruding on a private moment. Jim Kirk saw and did things the young man at Spock's side never will. And this Jim Kirk faced death, something his own never had until...well. He will not think of that. In the recording, Jim smiles at him as he always does.

_"You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny...if that's true, then yours is to be by my side. If there's any true logic to the universe, we'll end up on that bridge again someday. Admit it, Spock. For people like us, the journey itself… is home."_

Jim's eyes are shining as the hologram fades. He stares at the dormant pendant in his hand and chews on his lower lip.

"You really loved each other," he says.

"A feeling you understand."

"Yeah, well..." Jim begins. His voice drops lower. "The you of this universe doesn't feel the same way."

"How can you be certain?"

Jim shrugs. "He doesn't look at me the way you do."

"You must speak with him," Spock says.

"I tried." Jim closes his hand around the pendant.

Spock starts. "He rejected you?"

"No," Jim says, shaking his head. He angles his body so they are face to face. "Actually, he didn't say anything, just left my apartment in the middle of a chess game."

"When was this?"

"A couple weeks before the mission started," Jim says. He touches his own neck and rubs it. "I guess that was his way of turning me down easy. I didn't see him again until a few days before launch."

"I too behaved foolishly," Spock says carefully, slowly, "when my own Jim made his feelings known. Because of that, Jim believed I did not care for him, but the reality was the opposite. I cared a great deal, more than I was comfortable admitting as a Vulcan. I felt ashamed."

"Seriously? So, what, you just ignored him for a while?"

"No, Jim," Spock says sadly. "After our mission was complete, I resigned my active commission in Starfleet and returned to Vulcan. I spent three years working to achieve kolinahr."

"What's that?"

"It is a Vulcan discipline through which one purges all emotion and becomes a being of pure logic."

"Wait," Jim says, frowning. He looks Spock in the eye. "He told you he loved you, and you tried to cut that part out of yourself?"

"Yes."

"And you were gone for three years?" Jim says. "You didn't see him for three years?"

"I deeply regret the time we lost."

"What changed your mind?"

"You," Spock says. "I submitted myself to the final test, a mind meld with a kolinahr master. I failed the test, because my mind was too strongly connected to yours. Your consciousness called to mine across the universe, and thus I returned to you."

"And I'd waited?"

"Yes."

"Did you two— did we get married?"

Spock chuckles, a sound that causes Jim to look at him in surprise before laughing himself.

"Yes, in the Vulcan way," Spock says, "and the human way as well. Jim wished to honor my heritage, and my mother desired a traditional ceremony."

Jim smiles and meets his eyes at last. "I bet that was some wedding. How long did you have together?"

"That," Spock says gently, "I will not tell you."

"So," Jim says, uncurling his fingers and taking a last glance at the pendant before setting it back on the table. His brow again furrows. "You think it's possible he's just...scared?"

"A high probability. He remains your first officer, after all. He is concerned for your well being. Perhaps he simply requires time."

Jim bites the inside of his cheek, his mouth twisting sideways.

"I'm hungry," he says. "Are you hungry?"

***

Jim licks chocolate from Spock's stomach and crawls up the length of his body to kiss him where they lie sprawled on the common room floor beside the fireplace. It is warm enough that a fire is unnecessary, but Jim insisted. His skin is slick and glistening with sweat. The fire crackles and burns as Spock burns, Jim's touch as intoxicating as the chocolate's chemicals in his blood.

"I wanna see you lose control," Jim whispers and Spock laves Jim's mouth with his tongue as Jim sinks down onto him. Jim's body is hot and tight. Spock groans and thrusts up into him.

Jim laughs into his neck. Spock wraps his arms around Jim and is happy as he has not been in years.

***

"If you want to do that mind meld to me again, I don't mind."

They lie on the common room floor, staring at each other in the dark. Spock can just make out the glint of Jim's eyes from the glow of his comm screen. As it had been on Vulcan, this planet has no moon. Spock presses fingers to Jim's meld points and enters his mind for the second time, welcoming Jim forward into his own. Jim is tentative at first, almost hesitant, so unlike himself. He stretches mental hands into Spock's consciousness and grasps it, willing Spock's memories to become his own. Spock is careful to shield what Jim must not know, but he allows Jim to sense impressions, emotions, the love he and his Jim shared. Jim swims alongside him, leaving his mark on Spock's memories as he has on his body. Jim comes to the memory of Khan and stops, turning to Spock and asking wordlessly.

Mentally, Spock nods his consent.

Jim cries as he watches the two of them with their hands raised but not touching, hears Spock's dying words, inhales his last breath, feels him slump against the glass. He takes Spock's hand and guides him into his own mind, reveals his own death, his own Spock looking down on him, a tear that spills from his eye, an imagined press of fingers so tender it pains Spock to look at it. He pulls away and back, retreating. When he is again in the world, Jim is in his arms sobbing.

"Jim," Spock says, stroking his hair. "Jim, you are safe with me."

"I couldn't stand it if you died." Jim's breath is wet against his shoulder. His voice is broken. "How did I go on living, knowing you were gone?"

"You came back for me," Spock says, cradling Jim against his chest, "as I would have done for you."

"I knew you were alive?"

"After a time. You sensed it, just as I sensed when you died but also when you returned to life."

"How?"

"You are mine," Spock murmurs, "in all universes. I shall always be yours."

***

Jim is nestled in the V of Spock's legs, his back pressed to Spock's stomach, and he lolls his head as Spock mouths behind his ear. The water is six degrees lower than when they first entered the bath, almost uncomfortably cold, but Jim finally appears sated. Spock has never had to contend with the sexual drive of a twenty-seven year old human male. Jim's skin is flushed pink. He pants and finds Spock's hand beneath the water and entwines it in his.

"I don't know when I'll be back," he says. Spock squeezes his hand and sends a wave of love that makes Jim shudder against him.

"You belong with him," Spock says.

"I want you both."

"I loved you in another lifetime." Spock wraps an arm around Jim's belly and pulls him closer, nuzzling the bruises Spock has left on him. "That is enough."

It must be. It has to be.

***

Jim rises before Spock and showers, changing back into his uniform. They didn't bother dressing yesterday. He is beautiful when he reenters the bedroom, tugging his shirt hem into place, combing fingers through still-wet hair. Spock holds out a hand toward him, and Jim settles next to him.

"I've got to go," he murmurs, rubbing the web between Spock's thumb and index finger. Spock's breath catches, and Jim's touch lightens. He is filled with sorrow and regret over leaving. They are the thoughts closest to the surface, but there is also apprehension, gratitude, love.

"I will accompany you to the beam-up point," Spock says, pushing up on an elbow.

"No," Jim says, shaking his head. "It'll be harder with an audience."

His fingers trace the pronounced lines on Spock's face. They rest along Spock's meld points, and Spock wills Jim to remember these days together always.

"I'll call you," Jim says. He kisses Spock once, sweetly, and then he is gone.

When Spock returns his head to the pillow, it still smells of Jim. Fumbling blindly at his bedside table, he clutches the pendant to his chest in shaking fingers.

***

Jim walks to the beam-up point, kicking at the dirt to distract himself from the hollow feeling in his chest. He was supposed to feel better after two days of leave, not worse. The walk takes just over twelve minutes, and though it is early morning, the planet is already uncomfortably hot. He waves goodbye to the Vulcan children and their pet rabbit which peers at him from the base of a scrubby plant and scurries off.

The beam-up point is just outside the warehouse where the _Enterprise_ dropped supplies. Jim is surprised to find his first officer waiting for him, standing next to the locked building with his arms behind his back. He is alone, uniform neat and pressed, and doesn't move apart from his eyes as Jim approaches.

"Captain," he says in acknowledgement.

"Hey," Jim says, averting his gaze. "Did you have a good time with your dad?"

"I did," Spock replies, taking Jim's bag from his shoulder. Jim lets him. Spock's eyes are fixed on a point on Jim's neck, just below his ear. Jim knows exactly what he's staring at, the deep purple bruise he'll ask Bones to heal once he's back on board, the one he got in front of the fireplace when Spock was coming hot inside of him. He shivers at the memory and stares at his first officer.

"If it bothers you so much," Jim says in a tired voice, "why don't you do something about it?"

Spock looks down; his ears tinge green.

"We have much to speak about, Jim," he says quietly.

"You're telling me," Jim says. "You know we were married for twenty-something years in that other universe? I'm not giving up on this. If you need more time, then...that's what I'll give you."

Spock's head remains lowered, but he nods and shoulders Jim's bag, curving his fingers around the strap. Jim stares at them. He knows how those hands feel on his skin, in his mouth, pressing into him. He will wait. If that's what Spock needs, he will wait.

Jim flips open his communicator.

"Mr. Scott," he says, "two to beam up."

"Aye, Captain," comes Scotty's tinny reply.

Jim closes his eyes and concentrates on Spock's memories swirling in his head. He sees his own face, older, happy. The whirring of the transporter sounds in his ears. He takes one last breath of the hot New Vulcan air. _I love you_ , Jim thinks as his molecules break apart.

In a house on New Vulcan and beside him in the transporter beam, Spock is smiling.


End file.
